“Verily, lord, and with a most sweet grace—­”

“And her shoes—­”

“Her shoes, tall brother, O methinks her sweet shoe doth kiss the earth so sweet and light poor earth must needs love and languish as doth poor Giles!  Her shoe—­”

“Is it aught like to this, Giles?” and forthwith Beltane took out the little shoe.

“Aye, ’tis her very own, master!” groaned Giles.  “Ah, woe is me, for if she hath given to thee rose and therewith her pretty shoe—­thou hast, belike, her heart also, and with her heart—­”

“Nay, take it, Giles,—­take it!” quoth Beltane, sighing.  “I did but find it in my going, and this rose—­I found also, but this will I keep.  Methinks thy love is what thy heart telleth thee—­a maid very gentle and sweet—­so God prosper thy wooing, Giles!”

So saying, Beltane thrust the shoe upon bewildered Giles and, turning swiftly about, hasted away.  But even then, while the archer yet stared after him, Beltane turned and came striding back.

“Giles,” quoth he, “how tall is the Reeve’s daughter?”

“Lord, she is better than tall—­”

“Ha—­is she short of stature, good Giles?”

“Messire, God hath shaped her lovely body no higher and no lower than my heart.  Small is she and slender, yet in her sweet and slender shapeliness is all the beauty of all the women that all men have ever loved—­”

“Small, say you, Giles—­small?  Then give me back yon lovely thing!”

Saying the which, Beltane caught the shoe from Giles’s hold and strode away blithe and debonair, leaving the garrulous archer dumb for once and beyond all words amazed.

Now as Beltane went very deep in thought there met him Friar Martin, who bore upon his arm a great basket full of green vegetables and sweet herbs.  Quoth Beltane: 

“Good friar, what do ye abroad so early?”

“Sweet son, I praise the good God for His mercies and pant by reason of this my weighty basket.”

“Indeed ’tis a something well-laden basket,” said Beltane, relieving the friar of his burden with gentle force.

“Why, verily, my children are hungry children and clamour to be filled.  And see you, my son, I have a secret of a certain broth whereof these lentils and these sweet herbs do so tickle their palates that to satisfy them is a hard matter—­more especially Orson and Jenkyn—­who being nigh cured of their hurts do eat like four men and vaunt my cooking full-mouthed, insomuch that I must needs grow heedful of vain pride.”

“Fain would I see these children of thine an I may, good friar, so will I bear thy burden for thee.”

“Verily they shall rejoice to see thee,” quoth the friar, “but for my basket, methinks ’tis better suited to my habit than thy knightly mail—­”

For answer Beltane slipped the basket on his arm and they went on together talking whole-heartedly of many things.  Thus the gentle friar brought him at last to a low-arched portal within a narrow lane, and pushing open the door, ushered him into the great refectory of the abbey, where Beltane set down the basket, and Friar Martin, rolling up his sleeves, brought pot and pannikin but paused to smile and shake his head, as from a stone-flagged passage hard by came the sound of voices raised in altercation.